


What Big Teeth You Have

by Medeafic



Series: Captain Spanky Series [11]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Blood, Bloodplay, Cutting, D/s, Fear, Knifeplay, M/M, Sado-Masochism, hard biting, mention of phobias - frogs, physical altercation, verbal insults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach and Chris have a heavy scene together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Big Teeth You Have

“And you’re _sure_ there’s nothing I need to know about?” Zach asks again.

Chris wants to swear, a really filthy-bad word or phrase that will make Zach blink and look shocked and disapproving, but he doesn’t.  “For the sixty-fifth time,” he says instead, through clenched teeth.  “No.”

Zach has been at him, regularly, asking about things that might have happened to Chris, abuse or bullying or accidents.  _Just in case_ , he keeps saying.  _Just in case_.  Chris asks him once if persistent badgering counts, but Zach doesn’t think it’s funny.

“I’m not going to freak out,” he says each time.  “I promise.”

“Okay,” Zach says finally.  “But you know it’s not just the physical stuff I need to know about, right?  If there’s anything – if you have any doubts or thoughts I should know about, you’d tell me, right?  Honesty Policy.”

“There’s nothing,” he says.  “I promise.”

It’s not a lie, exactly.  Chris just doesn’t think Zach needs to know about some stuff.  Doesn’t need to know that Chris, very occasionally, thinks about Adam and what he said.  Because Chris didn’t believe it at the time, and still doesn’t, so it’s a moot point.

For Chris, waiting to heal up from all his marks is torturous.  Sometimes he tries to provoke Zach into biting him or using the crop or cane on him, or spanking him, or pinching him, or something, _anything_ , but Zach is like some fucking Zen Master now and never loses his control.  Although Chris counts it as a draw when he sees that particularly hungry look in Zach’s eyes, like he wants to eat him all up.

“You’re like the Big Bad Wolf,” he laughs once in bed, when Zach makes a frustrated growling noise into Chris’s neck, because he wants to bite, but won’t.

“Stop teasing me,” Zach grits out.  “Or I will make you stand silently in the corner for an hour.”

Chris laughs again, but Zach adds quietly, “You think I’m joking, but I’m not.”  Chris shuts up quickly.  An hour staring at a blank corner wall might _sound_ funny, but when he thinks about it – no.  No, he’d rather have sex than stand in the corner.

“I’ll be good,” he promises.

“Yeah, you better be.”  And when Zach manages to get two admittedly mind-shattering orgasms out of him, Chris is doubly sure that he made the right decision to be good, even though his neck and shoulders and chest have phantom aches from non-bites.

In lieu of biting, Zach’s been obsessing about fucking him up against the wall, next to what used to be the hole.  It was weird for the first week, but Chris looks forward to it now, because Zach is always so snuggly and tells him how good he is.  Zach blows him more than usual there, holding Chris’s wrists behind his back loosely with one hand and making him control his orgasm for as long as possible before swallowing down his come neatly.  He gets Chris to jack him off while they look each other in the face, kissing and sucking, Zach seizing his fingers into his shoulder and pushing him into the wall when he comes.

It’s only when Chris’s body is just about free of bruises that Zach says they’re ready.  It’s been over three weeks since Zach stopped marking him up and Chris is absolutely _itching_ to feel something, something painful and ouchy and intense.  He has to admit, Zach’s plan worked.

They both arrange time off.  Zach thinks they’ll need four days at least.  “And try to avoid the paps after that, too, if you can.  I’ll get someone to take Noah and Harold.”

Chris raises his eyebrows.  That’s serious.  “Okay,” he says.  “Should I, I don’t know, bring a heavy duty gag with me?”  It’s supposed to be a joke but it comes out straight.  Zach laughs anyway.

“I have one,” he says.  “So no.”

Chris breaks his agent’s cardinal rule and drops out of another casting process, because Zach has trouble coordinating days off in a row.  It’s worth it, though, he thinks.  Besides, after _Trek_ , he can afford to pick and choose, for a while anyway.  And he is completely overtaken by Zachary now, has no problem putting him before work.  Before everything else.

  
***

  
Zach is totally normal when Chris turns up on the night.  They watch TV for a while, although they avoid the _Heroes_ repeat.  Chris wants to drink, but Zach only allows him one beer early in the evening.  He doesn’t say why he’s cutting him off, but Chris knows.  Every so often Zach asks, “What are your safe words?”

“Enterprise, too drastic.  I _know_ what they are, why do you keep asking?”

“Because I want you to be as safe as possible.”

“I’m not going to suddenly _forget_ them.”

“You haven’t really needed them for a while.”

When Zach finally, _finally_ takes his hand and pulls him towards the bedroom, Chris has gone beyond anticipation, beyond nerves, to cockiness.  He is one hundred percent sure that this is not going to be as intense as Zach seems to think.  Zach doesn’t seem concerned though, and Chris doesn’t sense the change like he usually does, the sharp delineation between Out There and In Here.  It’s been a while since he’s seen that change, anyway, after Zach’s moratorium on hard play.

Zach leans in the doorway, watching Chris as he starts stripping off without even being told.  “Remember how you said you’ve never started a fight you couldn’t finish?” he says, as Chris kicks off his shoes.

“Sure,” Chris says.

“That’s not actually true, is it?”

Chris glances up at him, questioning.

“You tried to pick a fight with me, twice.  Lost both times.”

Chris shrugs, pulls off his jeans.  “I guess.  But apart from that.”

Zach takes off his shirt and throws it aside, but leaves his black jeans on.  There’s an old set of sheets on the bed and towels on the chair, but other than that, nothing’s changed.  Chris kind of expected a lot of plastic.  _You’ve watched too much Dexter_ , he thinks.  The knife is nowhere to be seen.

“So how do you want me?” Chris asks with a grin when he’s finally naked.  He starts stroking his cock brazenly, because Zach likes watching him do that. 

“You can wipe that smirk off, for a start,” Zach says mildly, closing the bedroom door.  He never closes the bedroom door.  But Chris doesn’t register that, not yet.  He raises an eyebrow at Zach.

“Oh, yeah?” he says.

Zach is all up in his personal space faster than he thought possible, and before Chris can move, shoves him hard enough to knock him backwards.  Chris doesn’t get it; gives a bewildered smile.  Zach moves forward and shoves again, more force behind it.

A third time, and Chris bangs backwards into the wall.  But Zach still won’t quit it.  He pushes again as Chris steps forward, making his head contact against the plaster.

“Hey – cut it out!”  Chris doesn’t understand yet.

“Make me,” Zach says, and there’s no trace of a smile at all.  He grabs Chris’s shoulder and squeezes too tight.

“Ow,” Chris says, and clutches at Zach’s hand.  “ _Ow_!”

Zach leans forward and says into his ear, “You are such a fucking little bitch, Pine.  You always _take_ it and you never push back.”

Chris is confused.  He knows it’s part of the game, but he’s never heard Zach sound so cold and so _mean_ , especially after the last three weeks of strange affection.  “You’re hurting me,” he says.

“You like it.”  His fingers dig in again.

“Fuck!  Not like that I don’t.”

“You’ve been _begging_ me to hurt you.”

“Not like _that_!”

“Then stop me.”  Zach gives another excruciating twist to his shoulder.  Chris thinks, _Fine, whatever, it’s your game_.  And pushes his hands gently into Zach’s chest, trying to move him away.  It’s like gently pushing a fridge. 

“See?  You like it,” Zach says, and squeezes even harder, somehow, and Chris really pushes him this time because _goddamn_ it hurts.  His arm feels weak, but he manages to force Zach backwards this time.

“ _Finally_ ,” Zach drawls.  “Jesus.  I was beginning to think there was no fight in you _at all_.”  But he shoves back again and Chris collides with the wall, again.  Zach looks at him.  “No.  I was right the first time,” he says under his breath.

“Don’t,” Chris growls, and he’s beginning to get annoyed.  This is confusing, and Zach doesn’t seem like Zach.

Zach grasps his face, squeezing fingers into his cheeks, and Chris bats him away; Zach grabs again, looks him over.  “Yeah.  You just _take_ it, like always,” he says.  “Don’t you ever get tired of just _taking_ it?”

Chris pulls his head away and tries to get past, but Zach blocks him.  “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You said you were going to cut me,” Chris says, and he can’t meet Zach’s eyes.  He can’t think what else to say, not when Zach is looking at him like he’s nothing, like he doesn’t even care.  “And you’re– you’re not cutting me.”  He doesn’t even see the knife anywhere in the room.  He feels uneasy.

Zach is appraising him, and Chris becomes uncomfortably aware of the pulse beating rapidly in his neck.  But he feels perverse; he’s not going to show anything if Zach won’t.

“Just – just get on with it, just cut me,” he says, trying to step forward.  Zach shoves; Chris slams into the wall again.  “Stop _doing_ that!  I’m not going to hit you.”

Zach gives him a look he’s never seen before, and it’s not a nice look.  A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and it’s worse than if he weren’t smiling at all.  “Of course you’re not going to hit me.  As if you could.”

Chris searches his face then for a trace of Zach, other Zach, _his_ Zach, but there’s nothing there.  He knows, rationally, that this is what Zach said he was going to do, and so, rationally, it’s okay.  But he doesn’t feel very rational, not with Zach’s blank eyes a few inches away from his own, watching him like he’s a zoo animal.  A curiosity.

“Are you going to cry?” Zach asks in a little sing-song voice.  “Are you going to cry _again_ , Christopher?  Cry for me?”

Chris feels like he’s been slapped in the face, and yeah, he’s angry now.  “I.  _Don’t_.  Cry,” he tells Zach, stabbing a finger into his shoulder with every word.  He’s walked them back to the middle of the room and he can feel his chest and shoulders flushing with resentment.  “And I’m not _going_ to.”  He shoves back, figuring if Zach’s allowed to, so is he.

Zach tilts his head slightly and looks into his eyes, but like he’s not seeing Chris, just a set of reactions.  “I think you are,” Zach says softly.  “I think you’re going to cry.”  He reaches up and grabs a handful of Chris’s hair, pulling hard.

Chris makes a sudden decision to get a shorter cut again.  Fuck continuity on his new movie.  At least then Zach won’t be able to get such a goddamn vice-like grip in his hair.

“What are you _doing_?” he manages to spit out.  “ _Stop_ it.”  But it doesn’t stop.  He’s getting really pissed off, and Zach is really fucking hurting him, and it’s not a good hurt.  He grabs Zach’s wrist, but Zach just yanks harder.  Chris gets down on his knees, because that’s the way Zach’s fist is directing him.

For a second Chris thinks Zach wants a blow job, and reaches tentatively to his waistband, but one look into Zach’s face tells him he’s way off.  Zach’s eyes are glassy.  He looks high.  He looks unrecognizable.  Chris thought he might look like Sylar during this thing, because he assumed it would be an act.  But it’s not an act, and he doesn’t look like Sylar. 

This is not an act.  This is Zach.

It’s in that moment that Chris feels, with a horrible queasy sensation, a sort of unwilling camaraderie with Adam.  If Zach looked at Adam like this, Chris can kind of understand what went down between them.

“You’re such a child,” Zach is telling him.  “You cry all the time.  Scared of frogs?  Horror movies?”  Chris swears to himself he’s never going to make a list of _anything_ for Zach again.

Zach slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out the knife.  It’s still closed.

Chris has had weapons pulled on him before, in plays and movies.  They were all props, and this is not a prop.

It’s all carbon steel and black inlay and so, so ugly.  In the shop, it was a beautiful thing, when Chris looked at it lying in its box, inert, watching Zach’s face glowing as he looked at it too.  When he’s seen Zach playing with it, flipping it open and closed like a meditation, it was a beautiful thing. 

He keeps hold of Chris’s hair, forcing his face towards the knife, and flicks it open with a soft _snick_ , too close to his eye Chris thinks, _way_ too close to his eye.

And it doesn’t matter at all how much Chris knows his Zachary wouldn’t really hurt him, because _his_ Zachary isn’t there, and there’s a fucking _knife_ in his fucking _face_. 

Chris doesn’t make a conscious choice, but he’s scrambling backwards, ripping his hair out of Zach’s hand.  There are only three things in the room: the knife, the person who used to be Zach, and his own pulse points, which are throbbing forward from his skin like they _want_ to be opened.  Little traitors, every one.

Chris grits his teeth, tries to stand, his palms too sweaty to give him much grip on the wall, but he gets most of the way up before Zach moves forward again, the knife still in Chris’s eye-line and too casually held.

He doesn’t have to think about it.  Chris starts forward, trying to attack back.  But Zach is expecting it, and crashes heavily forward into him instead before he can impact.

Chris feels like an asteroid meeting a small planet.  Fingers grab him hard at the shoulder, digging in painfully again, and he is _lifted_ backwards to crash into the wall.  The hanging picture above the bed clatters on its hook.  His back and shoulders take the full force and he yelps. 

He has no fucking idea where the knife is, and he has to know.

“ _Stop_!” he wheezes.  Zach smashes his mouth into Chris’s, teeth breaking the skin of his lip, enamel screeching.  Chris tastes blood and Zach.  He’s LA enough to worry about his veneers.

His mind is trying to form the words that will stop this happening, but his mouth won’t say them.  Zach is clenching a fist in his hair again, teething at his torn lip, making it worse, and Chris finds his eyes are streaming from the pain. 

All he can think to say is _Stop_ and he knows that isn’t the magic word.  He’s in a nightmare, unable to run.  Unable to chant the incantation that can stop the monster from tearing him apart.

He panics, tries to punch, tries to kick Zach right in the fucking balls, but it does no good.  Zach flattens him against the wall, and Chris finds his wrist seized painfully tight; his other arm pinned between them and immobilized.  His cheekbone is scraping painfully over the wall. 

He still doesn’t know where the knife is.

He hears Zach breathing heavily, hot breath damp on his neck.  Zach is saying something in his ear, forcing the words out clearly.

“This is quite a drastic enterprise.”

Zach _knows_.  He is telling him his safe words, asking him if he wants to tap out.

“I said –”

“ _I heard what you said_ ,” Chris snarls, finding his voice.  “ _Fuck.  You._ ”  He hears the words but doesn’t recognize himself.  He sounds savage, ferocious.

Zach bites down on his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, and Chris chokes on his own scream.  Gets a hand free and tries to claw at Zach’s eyes, rip his teeth out of his flesh.

But Zach is prepared, and drags him across the room to slam him into the opposite wall, right next to the plastered-over hole.  He pulls Chris’s hands down behind his back and gives him another vicious kiss.

“Your face,” he pants.  “It just looks so much better with some color in it.”

“Not here, please, not here,” Chris hears himself saying.  This spot is a good spot, it’s supposed to be a safe spot.

Zach lets him go, and Chris finds he can’t stand on his own.  His lip is bleeding down his chin, he can feel it, and his entire face stings.  His nose is aching.  He takes a brief moment to feel grateful that it’s not bleeding too, because once he gets a bloody nose it just doesn’t stop.

He’s sliding down the wall slowly.  “Stand up,” Zach hisses.  “I want to watch your face.”  But Chris can’t stop sliding.  His vision is slightly fuzzy now too.  His head is starting to buzz.

That’s when Zach grabs him between the legs.  “Not yet,” he breathes, and it’s a command.  “Only when I say.”  It brings Chris’s focus back, sharp, centered on the fact that Zach could hurt him, very badly.  Zach literally has him by the balls.  And he has the knife again in his hand.

“Please, please.”  Chris can barely hear himself.  He places his hands carefully against Zach’s chest.  He doesn’t want to make any sudden moves.  His legs are trembling with the effort of standing up.  He shoots his eyes sideways, past the plastered hole, at the closed door, wondering if he could make it in time.  But it’s locked.  It’s locked shut.

And then the knife is too close to Chris’s face for him to concentrate on anything else.  “I could do anything I want to you right now,” Zach says, leaning in for another kiss.  He sucks at the wound on Chris’s lip, then pulls back.  Spits blood back in his face and Chris flinches like it’s a slap, thuds his head into the wall again.  “Say it.”

“You could do anything you want to me right now,” Chris parrots.  His voice is dull.  Zach squeezes his fingers round his balls, lightly, and Chris clenches his hands against him.  “Please,” he says.  “Don’t – not anything like that.” 

“Oh, _fuck_ , you’re beautiful like this.”  Chris looks at the knife again.  “You can’t stop me, can you?” Zach breathes.  Chris looks at him properly, makes an effort to focus his eyes, and still doesn’t recognize him.  His lips are stained red and drawn back from his teeth in something that is not a smile.  Chris has clawed scratches into his face, and they are still bleeding. 

Zach puts the knife up against the wall next to Chris’s head, and if there’s one thing Chris is thankful for, it’s that he can’t see it anymore.  The relief makes him lightheaded.  The buzzing comes back.  He thinks about frogs.  Phobia cured.  Frogs don’t eat people, but Zach–

“You.  Can’t.  Stop.  Me.”  Zach is waiting for something and he looks like he’s willing to draw blood to get it.

“No,” Chris says.  “I can’t stop you.”  For a horrible second he thinks he’s going to piss himself, like a child.  His mind stops.  This time he’s sliding no matter what.

But Zach catches him under the arm, almost tender.  He helps him to the bed, where Chris collapses, his limbs heavy and indolent.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Zach says, straddling him, making sure his arms are immobilized.  “Don’t you fucking dare go under.  Not until I say you can.”  He points the knife straight at Chris’s face.  A thin rivulet of blood has run down Zach’s face, down his neck, and is congealing gradually above his clavicle.  _I did that_ , Chris thinks, and feels satisfaction.

“Unless I safe word,” he says spitefully.  He just wants to slip under, to float away, and Zach won’t let him.

Zach looks at him, raising an eyebrow.  They both wait in silence for a moment. 

Then Zach speaks.  “If you’re _not_ going to safe word right now,” he says softly, “I suggest you shut the fuck up about it and don’t try to tease me.  Because you won’t be sent to stand in the corner as punishment, I can promise you that.”  Chris shivers.  “But if you _are_ going to safe word, it’s pretty much now or never.”

“I’m not scared,” Chris whispers.  “I’m not scared of you.”  His heart is racing and he’s pretty sure Zach can feel it, because he has a hand on Chris’s chest.

“You just keep telling yourself that,” Zach says, and cuts into his chest.  Makes a strangled sigh in the back of his throat.  Chris feels sharp pain and warmth welling and he stares at Zach.

“You – you _cut_ me,” Chris says, shocked.

Zach collects his blood on the tip of the knife and drips it on to Chris’s face.  “I cut you,” he agrees.  Chris tries to twist away from the blood drops, but Zach grabs his face painfully hard to hold him still.  “Open your mouth,” he says, like he’s just had a thought.  When Chris won’t, Zach squeezes his face, making his teeth cut into the inside of his cheeks, until he obeys. 

He feels sick when he tastes his own blood, although the amount is so small that the taste is mostly in his mind.  “I don’t like this,” Chris says, or tries to say.

“I can see that.  You’re crying.”  Zach pauses once more.  “Safe word?  No?”  Zach reaches down to cut him again.  “You have no idea,” he tells Chris, “how gorgeous this blade looks sliding into you.  Like it’s making love to you, sinking into your flesh.”  He looks right into Chris’s eyes.

Chris never remembers what happens next, but Zach tells him later. 

He starts screaming, and Zach has to hold a hand over his mouth until he stops.  Zach tells him that he nearly stopped everything right there, because he figured the neighbors would be calling the cops. 

But once Chris stops screaming and no one shows up at the door, Zach keeps going, because Chris begs him to.

There are more cuts, Chris doesn’t know how many but too many, so many that he feels like he’s in ribbons, but Zach won’t let him look.  Chris is shuddering and clammy by the time Zach’s finished, and he could swear the air is cloying with the scent of blood.

“Let me go,” he begs.  “Let me go.”

Zach knows what he’s trying to ask.  He looks at Chris’s chest critically.  “I think I’m done here.  You can go, if you like.  Go under.”

But Chris can’t, despite his desperation.  There’s too much going on in his head.  “Help me.  Please.”  His whole face is soaked, and he prays it’s not with blood.

“Be quiet,” Zach whispers.  “No more talking.”  He lays the knife over Chris’s lips, barely touching.  The blade is wet.  “Shhh.”

That does it.

“Where are you?” says a voice in his ear, but Chris has no way to tell.

“Flying,” he answers, amazed, and he can’t speak anymore.  He hears something that could be a question, but English is a foreign language to him now.  There are sensations, and time passes.  He hears Zach’s voice, understands and obeys, opens his mouth when he’s told, because the only thing he wants to do is make Zach happy.

“Oh my God,” he says, and he’s not sure if he’s not actually having a religious experience.

“Not quite,” Zach says.  He feels his legs pull up, bending over Zach’s forearms.  Zach is naked now too.  “I’m going to fuck you, Christopher.”

 _That will be just fine_ , Chris thinks.  _Whatever you want_.  He feels a sharp fingernail pinch on the inside of his thigh, high up.  It hurts.  Nothing has hurt for a while.

“Come back to me, a little bit,” Zach is saying.  “I want you here for this.”

“I’m here,” he mumbles. 

“You didn’t safe word.”

“Okay.”

“What are your safe words, Christopher?”

He has to think about that.  “Drastic something?”

“Close enough.  Back with me now?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” 

Chris starts to feels his face aching again.  He curls his fingers and toes.  His eyes are sore.  His nose is stuffy, and he has to breathe through his mouth, which is tangy with blood.  His chest is one big hurt.  “What are you doing?” he asks.

“I told you.  I’m going to fuck you.”

Chris feels fingers invading his ass and bucks; it’s almost too much.  But Zach is gentle, careful.

“Relax,” he says.  “I won’t hurt you anymore.”  He takes his time, teasing Chris until he starts asking for it.  “You want it?”

Chris looks at him for the first time in a long time.  He’s been afraid to look, but Zach, _his_ Zach, has returned.  He has blood on his mouth and bruises and scratches on his face, but it’s Zach again.

“Yes.  I want _you_.”

“Ask me nicely.  Say please.”

Chris takes a deep, shuddering breath and reaches a hand out.  When Zach takes it, Chris clutches like he’s drowning.  _Beneath the sun’s rising, or beneath the turning point of the icy Bear?_   He thinks about Ursa Major, wheeling around the North Star.  He has no use for the sun right now.

“Please would you fuck me,” he says, his voice cracking.

Zach slides in slowly and Chris thinks about the knife sliding into his skin, tries to pull away, but it’s too late, Zach is inside him and falling over him, his arm braced on the wall.  A drop of blood from his face splashes down onto Chris, drips down his temple, and Chris flinches.  Sees Zach’s eyes glaze over for a second, but then he’s back again.

“You are so fucking amazing,” Zach tells him.  Chris feels something; it takes a second to place it as pride.  “You have been _so_ good tonight.  Such a good boy for me.”

Chris shifts his hips, tries to get Zach deeper into him.  Zach pulls him closer, making him curl up into it.  Chris closes his eyes, feels Zach’s fingers tracing over his chest, tries not to think about the blood, not right now.  He feels his dick straining and clasps his hand over it.  Whether he’s trying to hide it or jerk it, he’s not sure.

“Look at me,” Zach says.  “I want to watch you come.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Chris whispers.  He’s so hard now that it almost hurts, but he’s not sure if he wants to come.  He can smell sweat and Zach and blood.

“You can.  You will.”  Zach’s breathing has picked up and he’s thrusting deeper into him each time.  Chris opens his eyes.  “Don’t you want to make me happy?”

Chris gives a strangled, “Yes,” and sees Zach smile, properly.

“Then do what I tell you.”

Chris shakily obeys, rubbing lightly at first, his cock leaping up towards his fingers.  Zach leans over, bending him like a rag doll.  Kisses him and talks in his ear about how hot he looks and how good he’s being.

“Where’s the knife?” Chris asks suddenly.

“It’s gone, I put it away,” Zach says soothingly.  “You don’t have to worry about it anymore.  Don’t talk now, just come for me.”

Once he knows that, things are better, and he can speed up his hand.  He feels Zach moving slowly in and out of his ass, dipping down occasionally to give sharp little bites on his neck and shoulders.  Chris has missed that, so much, too much.  When Zach sucks into his shoulder again where he broke the skin, fitting his teeth delicately back into the marks he’s already left there, Chris squeezes hard at his cock and starts coming, feels the hot wet warmth spilling over his hand, over his stomach and onto his chest, and he thinks about blood.

Zach wraps his hand gently over Chris’s mouth, stilling the panicky noises that start after his orgasm noises, and presses his forehead into the side of his face.  Chris can hear him trying to control his own breathing.  “Christopher,” he murmurs, “this probably isn’t the best time, but I think I love you.” 

He comes soon after, biting, gasping, Chris shaking underneath him.  Zach stays on top afterwards, hand still over Chris’s mouth, pressing his own face down into the pillow next to Chris’s neck.  After a minute or two he removes his hand, and as the taste of Zach’s skin fades, Chris tastes blood from his split lip.

“Ouch,” Chris says after a while.  He’s starting to feel the individual pains all over his body.  He’s sticky, everywhere.  “Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Zach agrees, rolling off.  He starts wiping down Chris’s chest with a warm, wet towel.  Chris has no idea where it came from or when it got there.  It feels good, although his skin is tender.  Zach pads it up to press against the shoulder bite too, and Chris feels his muscles start to relax again.  Zach uses another cloth to wipe down his face, leaves it folded for a few minutes across Chris’s sore eyes.

“Was I good?” Chris asks.  He’s feeling a desperate need to hear it.

“So good,” Zach exhales against his neck.  “So very good.”  Zach takes away the cloth and kisses his eyelids.

Chris feels Zach cleaning him down and rubbing things on him.  Ice pack against his cheek and a wet cloth over his lip.  Sticky gel across his back and shoulder blades.  Zach shines a penlight into his eyes, and Chris starts slapping out at him before he holds him down carefully and explains he's looking for signs of concussion. 

He rolls around as Zach pulls up the sheet underneath him, tries not to look, because he doesn’t want to see the blood, but even out of the corner of his eye there seems to be a surprisingly small amount.  He can’t look at his own body, doesn’t want to know.

He hisses at the sting of antiseptic on his shoulder and chest, and the way Zach determinedly moves him around to put band-aids and bandages on, but is half asleep by the time Zach lies down next to him.  He tries to make Chris drink something through a straw, and it’s a struggle of wills.  Zach wins.  Chris feels warmth against his heart; a heat pad.  Zach draws a fleecy, heavy blanket over both of them.  Chris is wrapped up in soft bandages all over his upper chest and shoulders like a mummy, and it should be scary or maybe funny, but it’s not.  It’s comforting.

“Christopher,” Zach says.  “Oh, God.  Oh my God.  Oh, God.”  He’s drawing shaky breaths.  He removes the ice pack over his cheekbone, tenderly touches fingers to Chris’s face.

Chris wants to make a weak joke about Zach’s religious convictions, but he’s still too out of it.  He turns his face away on the pillow.  Gropes for Zach’s hand, tugs it around him and tucks their hands together under his cheek.

Zach hooks his leg over Chris; he feels safer.  “I bit you too hard.”

“You _cut_ me,” Chris says, jolting with the memory.

“Shh.  Not as much as you think.”  Zach brushes his mouth over the bandaged bite mark he’s left in Chris’s shoulder.  _Whatever that means_ , Chris thinks.

“What happened?  After I went under?”

“You cried.  More.”

“No,” Chris says definitely.  “I don’t cry.”

“You did.  I licked up your tears.”  Chris feels Zach’s cock twitching against his ass at the memory.

Chris thinks back over it all.  “You were really mean to me!” he says, half-incredulous.

“Yes.  Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“No.”  Chris squeezes his fingers over Zach’s, letting him know it’s all okay.  “You – you were right, though.  You _were_ scary.”

“Yeah…so were you, actually.”

“You said you loved me,” Chris adds, pressing his fingers again.

Zach goes very still and very quiet.  Then he sighs, kisses the back of Chris’s neck.  “Get some sleep.”

“I love you, too.”

“You’ve had a tough night.  Get some sleep.”  Zach shifts in the bed uneasily, but Chris hangs on, insistent, keeping close up against him.

“Do you think I’m going to leave you?”  Zach doesn’t say anything.  “You don’t want it to be like that _all_ the time, do you?”  Chris has to know, before he falls asleep.  He thinks he could probably handle it, but his publicist and agent would freak out.

“ _No_ ,” Zach says.  “No.  It’s supposed to be more of a special occasion kind of thing.  Which in itself sounds…yeah.  Let’s talk about it in the morning.  When we can process everything.”  He moves his face into Chris’s hair.  Chris can tell he’s holding his breath.

“Okay,” Chris says.  “We can do it on special occasions.”

“I really think –”

Chris kicks him gently under the blanket.  “Less talk,” he yawns.  “More sleep.  Hold me.”

And for once, it’s Zach who does as he’s told.


End file.
